Northumberland night

It was Daubigny's first night in his new prison, and he was frozen. He tossed and turned in his short cot, but the thin straw mattress offered little warmth or padding against the wooden slats that pretended to be a bed. His woolen blanket was also too short, and he was convinced it was full of insects. The air in the room was bitterly cold, and furthermore his neighbor was snoring.

"Gah!" he cried in frustration. "Some one shut him up!"

"Shut up, yourself," Jarreau grunted. But the damage was done; he was awake.

Rolling onto his stomach, he reached across and shook the snoring man by the shoulder, "Leveque. Wake up and go to sleep."

Leveque's eyes remained closed, but he stirred and mumbled, " 'm awake. I'm up." Jarreau snorted softly and turned onto his side, determinedly shutting his eyes. The snoring had stopped and that, he hoped, would keep the rest of them quiet.

Daubigny tucked his long legs up against his chest, trying to get as much of himself under the blanket as possible. "It's cold," he muttered petulantly. These men had obviously been here for a while. The snoring one apparently knew how to fall asleep. They must know some secret.

Lachat groaned. He too was cold and had been able to sleep till the complaint was made. And he was hurting! "Stow it. If you can't find a way to warm yourself up, you can still give the rest of us some benefit of sleeping." He shifted slowly. He could not complain about the groaning man being silenced. It certainly offered some peace and quiet, even if up till he would start to snooze again.

Rousseau sat up. He stared at the wall. He sat like that for a few moments and then stood and walked up to where the faint light cascaded into the room. "Come on, Rousseau... It's middle of the night!" Lechat grunted, carefully turning on his straw bed.

Daubigny shifted and stared at the ceiling. He saw the other man walking across the room, but if the man wasn't lighting a fire or fetching extra blankets, he didn't care.

"Does anyone ever escape from this miserable place?"

Despite his best efforts, Jarreau discovered that his ears were less amenable to being closed than certain other faculties. He was still trying when the rustle of straw followed closely by the soft tread of footsteps announced that someone was up. Perhaps gone to smother the new fellow into silence. Curious despite himself, Jarreau opened his eyes.

A figure, whose vague outline he recognized as belonging to Rousseau, stood silhouetted by the window. Poor bastard. Jarreau turned away, pulling his blanket tighter around him. "Sleep's about as close as any of us get to that here," he growled in answer to the new man's question.

"What's he doing?" Daubigny asked, pointing with his elbow toward the man by the window, though his neighbor could probably not see the gesture.

Merciful God, did this one ever shut up?

Pulling off one of his shoes, Jarreau propped himself up on his mattress and flung it at the other man's head. Or where he imagined his head to be; it was difficult to be certain in the dark.

"Shut it."

He almost immediately regretted the decision. The leather was by no means warm, but it had been one more layer between his foot and the cold.

Daubigny flinched as the projectile bounced off of his bed and onto the one beyond, startling the occupant awake. "What? What?" the man spluttered.

Lechat rolled his eyes placing his arm over his eyes. "...Jarreau. What is that you sent flying?" He glanced at Rousseau from under his arm. The man stood motionless by the window, staring through it. He was touching the soft light that came from there, attempting to grasp it and then studied the palm of his hand with equal amount of mesmerisation, where the light revealed his hand and allowed the details be more prominent.

"...Hey..Rousseau.. time fer sleep. Come on. Show t' new guy how's it done!" Well all this conversation was certainly not helping anybody sleep.

August Rougeau grumbled and turned over. It was bad enough that the place was freezing and one of his fellow prisoners was snoring. But now the rest of them had decided to start complaining, which did not help matters at all.

"Will you all please shut it?" Rougeau snapped, "For the love of God, no one is ever going to sleep if you all keep bickering like ninnies!"

Daubigny could agree with that, even though he had been the first one to speak. He was exhausted from those cold days of marching across the wretched damp English terrain, and sore from nights sleeping on floors in gaols or guarded barns. A thin straw mattress was better than none at all, but he suspected his wooden bed was worse than none at all. The straw was too thin, and it parted to allow the slats to jab him in the ribs and shoulder.

And to top it all, the man apparently called Leveque was snoring again. Daubigny hated him for it, and for his ability to fall asleep so quickly and easily. Damn him for a mangy flea-infested dog. He was probably from the army. To distract his mind, Daubigny began thinking of creative ways to kill him in the night. And on those happy thoughts, he eventually drifted into sleep.

Lachat rolled his eyes:" You shut it." He rolled onto his other side and covered his head. Rousseau would return to his bed soon, but even if he chose to stand there all night he was damned if he would stay up to watch him. He yawned.

Soon he too was asleep, while Rousseau, true to expectations would only return to bed earlier in the morning.